


Little Spoon

by MaxWrite



Series: Hockey Night in Canada and Everything After [7]
Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Mission: Impossible (Movies) RPF, Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol RPF, Mission: Impossible RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, RPF, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I'm short. I know I'm short. And I'm okay with that …"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Spoon

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic about Tom's height that I said I was going to write. If you don't recall me saying that, it's probably because you understandably chose not to read the [epic end note on the last fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2431031#work_endnotes). Seriously I don't blame you. That thing got so long.
> 
> The gist of it is that I shied away from writing Simon and Tom as being two different heights, mainly because it wasn't how I pictured them in my head, and I couldn't picture it because I'd never seen it. But also because it felt like a topic I should stay away from out of respect or something. But I've had a change of heart. Not about respect, but about this subject being off limits.
> 
> Now, in this fic I do not go into specific heights. I'm vague about it, mainly because I don't know anything for sure. Simon is more than likely at least an inch shorter than he claims. Tom is most likely one to two inches shorter than his "official" height. So I steered clear of mentioning specific numbers.
> 
> Anyway, this takes place in 2014, during the shooting of the fifth _Mission: Impossible_. In fact they're still shooting as I type this. Simon posted [this pic to his Twitter](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com/post/99283782172/infiniterider-i-know-somebody-is-writing-fic-of) a little while ago. This fic is the result. That man doesn't know the power he has.

Simon looks out the window of the car he's been sitting in on and off for the last few hours. He is on a movie set, with Camera Man Greg in the backseat, both of them awaiting instructions after completing the last take. Greg quietly fusses with his equipment while Simon watches Tom talking to Chris, their director. They're too far away for Simon to hear them, but Simon smiles because Tom is doing that thing with his hands as he talks, making elegant, swooping movements.

Both Tom and Chris make frowny faces at the monitor on which they're watching the footage they've just shot. Simon's not sure if those faces are good or bad, but he suspects they'll be shooting more takes of this same scene the following day when the sun is back where they need it to be.

It's been a long day already. Simon's been here since dawn; Tom since before that. They're both feeling the length of the work day, but they're happy. It's a beautiful day in London and Simon is working with his husband. He is very, very happy.

Tom comes back to the car and gets in the driver's seat next to Simon. He shuts his door, looks in the rear view mirror at Greg and says, "We need a couple more shots, then we break for lunch. Chris'll tell us when."

"Got it," says Greg.

"Will you be joining me for lunch?" Simon asks.

Tom hesitates, already looking apologetic. "We'll have dinner together, I promise."

Simon looks out the window again to where Chris is now conversing animatedly with his assistant director. Simon suspects they'll be waiting in this car for a bit longer, so he reaches into a pocket and pulls out his phone to pass the time.

Tom sighs, rubs his hands up and down his own thighs impatiently. The energy coming off him is palpable. They're burning daylight and he wants to get everything done yesterday.

"If people knew how much time we spend sitting around just waiting for shit to happen …" he says.

"We should show them how exciting it is," Simon says. "Wanna post a picture?"

"A picture of what? Nothing's happening."

"There doesn't need to be anything happening. That's not what posting pictures about."

"You and your pictures."

"You and Chris don't mind, do you? Like you said, nothing top secret happening at the moment."

"I don't mind. Not sure about Chris. Might wanna ask him."

"He seems a bit busy at the moment. Tell you what …" Simon brings up his camera app and focuses his lens on Tom's leg.

"What're you doing?" Tom laughs.

"Exclusive behind-the-scenes shot, this. Twitter will love it." Simon takes a shot of nothing but Tom's thigh and proceeds to upload it.

"Isn't Twitter sick of you messing with them by now? How have they not formed an angry mob and come looking for you yet?"

"Oh, come on, it's funny! And it's good publicity. Thought you'd like that."

Tom gives him an indulgent and unmistakably affectionate smile that brightens his whole face like warm light. Simon is compelled to take another shot.

"Seriously?" Tom asks.

"Don't move. Don't stop smiling like that."

This only makes Tom smile more radiantly. Simon's phone is able to capture an unrestrained about-to-laugh sort of grin complete with little lines at the corners of the eyes. He takes two shots, catching Tom both face-on and in profile looking glowingly happy.

"Simon, you need to stop," Tom laughs. "Chris is gonna yell at you."

"Look at it this way: now I get to look at your lovely face during lunch."

Tom sobers a bit. "You know I'd eat with you if I could."

Simon realizes how his comment might have sounded and quickly says, "No, no, I'm not upset. I mean, yeah, it sucks, but I'm not telling you not to work. I know you're busy. We're _all_ busy. I shouldn't complain, really. We spend hours and hours together everyday."

"Yeah, on set, filming, working. Not alone together, not connecting in any real way. I don't blame you for missing me when I'm right next to you. I feel the same way. We spend all this time together pretending to be other people."

"Tom. It's all right. Really. It's part of the job. And we both love this job. Just shoot me a text at some point, we'll be fine."

Tom reaches over and takes Simon's hand with a sad smile, then leans in for a quick kiss and a nose rub, which Simon happily gives him.

"Uh … should I leave you two alone or …" says Greg.

Reminded that they are not alone, both Simon and Tom turn in unison to look at Greg who is watching them awkwardly from the backseat.

"No, you stay," Tom says. "Sorry. We're finished now." He releases Simon's hand and says to him quietly, "I will try my hardest to have dinner with you. I promise."

"It's not that big a deal, really," says Simon. "Besides, the time apart is a good opportunity for me to sext you at awkward moments."

A little snicker emanates from the backseat.

"Christ," Tom laughs. "Greg's still here, you know."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten him." Simon twists around to look at Greg. "When shall I send you your sexy text, Greggo?"

"Anytime after lunch is cool," Greg replies without missing a beat.

* * *

Simon emerges back out onto set after lunch having changed into his own clothes – jeans, a hoodie, his glasses, his wedding band back in its place on his finger. Tom is where Simon had left him forty-five minutes ago; talking with Chris, the two of them sitting in director's chairs with a monitor before them. Tom has since found at least a little time to slip away and change clothes as well. He's now also in jeans and a t-shirt, both of which show off his various ripples and bulges quite nicely.

Simon lowers the volume on his mp3 player as he wanders by Tom and Chris and goes to his own special chair which he has set up in an area where cast and crew can stand and watch an on-going shoot and not be in the way. He plunks himself down on the old lounger, puts his feet up and watches various people go about their jobs while ambient post-rock thrums in his ears. When his eyes inevitably go back to Tom he unconsciously touches his wedding band with his thumb, spins it on his finger. At that very moment Tom glances back at him and smiles. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses now, but his smile is warm and intimate. He holds up a finger at Simon: _Be right with ya, Gorgeous._

But when he's finished with Chris, Tom dashes off somewhere instead of heading over to Simon. Figuring Tom has remembered something else he needs to do, Simon puts his head back on his headrest and waits. He closes his eyes and mentally goes over his performance that morning.

"When do I get a chair?" asks a familiar voice from above. Simon opens his eyes and finds his costar Rebecca standing over him, partially blocking the sun with her head. Her long, dark hair is pinned back and she's giving him a friendly smirk.

He reaches into his pocket, pauses his music and asks with a grin, "I beg your pardon?"

"What's all this?" she asks in her rather pretty English accent-tinged Swedish accent. "Why do you get a lounge chair? What about the rest of us?"

"Oh, that's right. You don't know about Jeff."

"Jeff?"

"That's its name," Simon explains, patting the chair's armrest. "If you want one, you'll have to spend several months kissing up to Jeff Bridges. I worked with him on a film several years ago and he gave me this as a gift. I named it after him. And no, you can't sit in it. I've got the arse dent just right."

"I see," she says, crouching to have a closer look. "Do you bring it with you on all your jobs?"

"Nah, just the ones in the UK. Don't like taking him on planes. Too much trouble. Besides, he's getting up there now and I'm not sure he'd survive a flight intact."

"He?"

"What?"

"You just called it 'he'."

"Oh. Might've gotten a bit attached over the years … don't look at me like that."

She smirks at him again, then looks up and into the distance. She rises to her full height and shields her eyes from the sun as she asks, "Do the two of you do everything together?"

"Erm, no. I mostly just sit on him."

She looks back down at Simon with a confused frown. He doesn't understand why until she adds, "No, no, I mean you and Tom." She points, so Simon turns his head to look; Tom is walking toward them with a lounge chair similar to Simon's tucked under one arm.

"Oh my god," Simon says with a smile. "Well, you know what they say about couples that lounge together."

Tom smiles at them both as he stops and sets up his chair next to Simon's. "Thought Jeff could use a friend," he says.

"This one's calling it 'he', you're giving it friends," Rebecca says to him, shaking her head.

"That's not so weird, is it?" Tom asks, taking a seat on his chair. "Think I'll name her … Bridgette." He grins rather proudly. "Get it? Jeff Bridges. Jeff and Bridgette."

"Dork," Simon says affectionately. "It's a her?"

"Think so. Feels like a her."

"Is this a boy thing?" Rebecca asks. "Giving inanimate objects names and genders?"

"You've never done something like that?" asks Tom.

"Not that I can recall."

"Nothing ever?" Simon asks. "Not your phone, not your iPod, not your computer?"

"Why on earth would I name my computer?"

"You're supposed to. What's it called then? When you go into 'properties' what's it say next to 'name'?"

She thinks for a moment, then replies, "Says 'Rebecca's Computer'."

Simon looks at Tom. "No sentimentality at all, this one."

"So what's Bridgette's story?" asks Rebecca. "Jeff was a gift. What about her?"

Tom shrugs. "Simon says I work too hard and that he misses my face, so I thought I'd chill with him for a while." He lays his hand on top of Simon's, which is on Simon's armrest, and gives him a soft smile.

"Thanks, babe," Simon says, and he means it.

"No problem, Gorgeous."

"I will admit you two are awfully cute in your matching chairs," says Rebecca.

"I bet I know who'd love a shot of this," says Simon, going for his phone with his free hand.

"Twitter," Tom says knowingly, taking his own hand back. "Jesus, Simon, it's a good thing we're already out, otherwise people would wonder why it's always just you and me in these pictures."

"Oh, nonsense," Simon protests as he fiddles with his phone. "We took a picture with Renner and Ving Rhames when they finally joined us on set. Hey, Bex, you want in on this?"

"Mmmno," she says. "This feels like a couples moment. I'll remember to bring my own lounger next time, we can make it a threesome."

"Hot," Simon says.

"The point is," Tom continues, "it's usually just you and me. We took one shot with Renner and Ving."

"Well, why _don't_ you take more pics with the others?"

"Because the others aren't permanently attached to their phones like you are."

"Hey, there's good reason for it. What did your publicist tell you about using social media more to your advantage? It's right there and it's completely free. You've got this direct connection to the public that you've never had before. You can give them whatever you want, straight from the horse's mouth so to speak. No middle man, no reporters, no chat shows, no gossip rags. Just you and your camera and a hundred-and-forty characters. Gracie's right; you should be using your Twitter account more. People want to hear from you."

"You're doing a fine job on your own. Besides, I don't even update that thing myself. My assistant does it."

"Yeah, that's another thing: I'm not sure I can be married to a man who doesn't update his own Twitter account."

"Come on, Simon, I'm busy. My account gets updated when there's a real reason, like when I'm making an appearance somewhere. For the most part I just don't feel the need to use it."

"Pfft, reason," Simon mutters. "You don't need a reason. That's what Twitter is – a bunch of people typing their most inane thoughts into the void and uploading pictures of their meals and overpriced coffees." He looks up and offers his phone to Rebecca. "Mind snapping a shot for me?"

"Oh, we're doing this now? Hang on," Tom says. He sits up, looks Simon up and down, frowning behind his shades, then reaches down to the sides of his chair, just below the armrests, and fiddles with some nobs, raising his backrest just slightly higher than Simon's. He lies back again and says, "Okay, go ahead."

Simon frowns at Tom for a moment before realizing why Tom needed to adjust his chair. It hits him quickly because he's seen this before.

Simon's been with Tom for three years now and this is the third movie they've worked on together. Simon's seen all the tricks, the smoke and mirrors. None of it's uncommon; Tom's certainly not the only Hollywood actor who needs to create the illusion of extra height. Simon himself has done it too. Sometimes it's just necessary. But Tom often goes the extra mile outside of filming and Simon wonders if it's all really necessary.

Rebecca takes the shot and gives Simon his phone back. Tom leans over to have a look, then gives Simon the go-ahead to upload it. Simon doesn't upload it right away, though. For a few minutes he just sits there examining the picture while Tom and Rebecca chat. Simon is too distracted to pay attention to their conversation.

He comes out of his own thoughts when Rebecca leaves them. He uploads the picture, then turns to Tom and says, "Hey, you wanna go inside?"

"Sure."

They leave their chairs and head to the trailer they share. It's spacious and elegant on the inside, with lots of polished wood and granite, leather, soft rugs for bare feet. Once behind a closed and locked door, Simon wanders into the kitchen area where he empties his pockets onto the counter top and says, "You know, Tom, I've been thinking …" He trails off as Tom comes up and cuddles him from behind. Tom's strong arms go around his middle. One of his hands goes up to begin pulling Simon's hoodie zipper down as he begins kissing the back of Simon's neck. Simon becomes very distracted as Tom nestles his crotch against Simon's ass.

"Oh," Simon says, closing his eyes. "I, um … what was I saying? I was saying something."

"Hm?" Tom stops kissing, but continues gently rubbing against Simon. "Did you actually come in here to talk?"

"Well, yeah, but … I'm reconsidering that now."

"Oh, I thought …" Tom releases Simon and stands at his side to look at him properly. He removes his sunglasses, puts them down and asks, "What'd you wanna talk about?"

"Um … something about …" Simon's eyes travel down Tom's body, taking in all the the wonderful ways Tom's clothes drape over his muscles and … other things. His eyes drop to Tom's feet, to the thick-soled boots he's wearing, and it comes back to Simon in an instant. "Right, it's back now. Yeah, um, about what just happened out there –"

"What just happened?"

"The … how do I put it? The smoke and mirrors, as it were. You adjusting your chair to throw off the perspective for the camera."

"What about it?"

"Well, sometimes I just wonder if it's all necessary. We're not shooting a scene. We're not at a premiere. We're not doing a photo shoot. It's just a cute picture of us in matching lounge chairs. Is all the camera trickery really needed?"

Tom looks slightly taken aback, but not upset. He leans a hip against the counter top's edge and says, "It's just how it is. It's what we do."

"No, it's what _you_ do, and we all go along with it, but I don't think anyone apart from you actually cares."

"It's just an image that needs to be maintained."

"Really? Still? After all this time? You're Tom Fucking Cruise. You've paid your dues. You've earned the right to just _be_ who you are by now, haven't you? And now you've finally come out to the world, a huge step to take, and here you are, still standing, still more successful than ninety-nine percent of Hollywood, still loved and supported by fans, and you're seriously telling me that of all the controversial things about you, your fucking _height_ is the one thing you still can't be honest about? Are you fucking joking?"

Tom cants his head. "How long has this been bugging you?"

Simon realizes he's gotten a bit heated. He takes a breath and speaks more calmly when he replies, "A while, I suppose. I dunno, I just see all the bullshit you go through and it irks me. It feels like you're playing right into the media's hands by continuing to hide and lie. Why do you even care?"

"I _don't_ care. I'm short. I know I'm short. And I'm okay with that, made my peace with it long ago, but it's not about me. It's about an image. It's about Tom Cruise the Star. _That_ guy is average height at least. That guy can stand next to an actress who's wearing heels and either match her height or come close. That guy's the fantasy, he's what people see when they look at me on screen. He's the guy they can accept saving the world and romancing the girl."

"And what about you? What about Thomas Cruise Mapother? What about _that_ guy? Why doesn't he get to save the world? When does he just get to be himself?"

"He's him all the time. He's him just hanging out with our costars, with our friends, with our families, here with you."

"Because he's hiding."

"No, he's _private_. I don't mind faking something as insignificant as my height when I'm out there, because there are countless things about me that the public never gets to see anyway, so much more than just my height. What they get to see is an image that looks good on camera, and the more they see it, the more easily they'll believe it while sitting in a darkened theater. That's what you want in this business, that suspension of disbelief. It's important for what we do. We have to make them believe the unbelievable, two hours at a time. It's in everything we do, the words we say in interviews, the information we choose to divulge to the public. It's all a package deal. You're selling a product long before the movie hits the theaters, before the asses are in the seats. And you know this, all of it."

"I'm not buying it," Simon says with a shrug. "There are plenty of short men in Hollywood, actors just like you, nearly as famous as you, and nobody gives a shit that they're short."

"Who? Hobbits and boy wizards? They're allowed to be tiny. I'm not them. Why are you so bothered all of a sudden?"

Simon hesitates as he tries to figure out what's triggered him today. He thinks about the picture with Jeremy Renner and Ving Rhames that he'd mentioned earlier, how even that had been staged. Ving had been the only one not standing on a box in that shot. And why? Nobody in their right mind believed that any of them were the same height as Ving fucking Rhames.

Simon realizes that that had probably been a purely aesthetic choice. Having them all at the same height simply looked nice. Still …

"I like you the way you are is all," he finally says. "You're like a cuddly little bull dog. I like you small. Doesn't take anything away from you; you could still overpower me in a fight, still beat me in a foot race."

Tom smiles as he says, "Cuddly little bull dog."

Simon smiles shyly back. "Well, you know. You're all compact and muscly. Does that comparison bother you?"

"No. Not coming from you."

"But if someone else called you small, you'd be upset."

"No, Simon, I really don't care."

Simon shakes his head. "I'm still not convinced. Every time you put on a pair of shoes with the extra thick soles and the lifts inside just to go to dinner or take your kids shopping, you're telling me you're not thinking about some guy from high school that made fun of you or some girl that wouldn't give you the time of day?"

Tom shrugs. "Maybe sometimes. I'm human, things get to me, but I'm not plagued by insecurity anymore. I'm fifty-two now. I'm over it. What I do, I do for the job."

"For the image."

Tom nods.

"I guess I just wish it didn't matter so much."

Tom stares at him a moment, thinking, probably still wondering where all this is coming from, and to be honest Simon isn't even sure. He supposes it's been building for a while now. Then Tom crouches down and begins unlacing his boots. He straightens up again, toes them off his feet and nudges them out of the way. He takes a step closer to Simon and looks at him, having to look up to meet his eyes now. Tom's expression is serene. He even smiles.

"Better?" he asks.

Some of Simon's tension melts away at the sight of that smile. "I know you're comfortable like this with me. That's not the point."

"But it _is_ the point. You're what matters to me. You and our family and our friends are what matter to me. That's what I need you to understand. I'm not really me out there. I wouldn't wanna be. Out there I'm a brand, as it should be. But with you?" He lays his hand flat to Simon's chest, over his heart. "I'm real with you. Besides, what am I gonna do, issue a press release? After all this time, for something so insignificant?" His smile broadens and he shakes his head. "It's really not that serious."

Simon considers that. He supposes Tom does seem awfully confident in his own words, so maybe he isn't as bothered as Simon thinks he is.

Then Simon realizes something: they're alone, have been for several minutes now, and no one's come looking for them. He listens for a moment, expecting someone to come knocking on the door any second or for one of their phones to vibrate. Nothing.

He holds Tom's gaze as he pushes his own shoes off his heels and steps out of them. His height only drops about a half an inch but he is still at least three inches taller than Tom. He steps closer and takes Tom by the waist. "You're awfully cute down there, you know."

"Oh, now wait a minute. I said I was okay being short, and even being likened to a little bull dog, but I never said anything about the word _'cute'_."

Simon laughs. "I know, I know, men don't like being cute. We associate that word with kittens and babies and other adorably tiny, helpless creatures. I get it. But you know, Tom, sometimes cute just means cute. Attractive. You're small and attractive. I'm not implying that you're helpless."

"Well … okay. _You_ can call me cute. Anybody else gets fired." He smirks to let Simon know he's joking. Simon smiles and kisses Tom's forehead.

"Come here," Simon says. He turns Tom around so they're facing the same way, Tom in front, and he guides Tom toward the bedroom in the back of the trailer. Inside there is a full-length mirror on the wall by the sliding door that separates the bedroom from the rest of the trailer. Simon turns on the light and positions them before the mirror so they can look at themselves. He isn't quite tall enough to rest his chin on the top of Tom's head; he still needs to shift his head to the side just slightly so that Tom isn't blocking part of his face, but the height difference is still significant.

"There we are," Simon says. "You're really okay with that?"

"I am."

Simon holds up his right hand next to Tom's right shoulder. "Lay your hand flat to mine," he says. Tom obeys, crossing his body with his left arm and raising that hand so he can press his palm to Simon's. Simon makes sure the heels of their hands line up so that the slight difference in the lengths of their fingers is evident. "You okay with that too?"

Tom smiles at Simon's reflection. "I am."

Simon lowers his hand and wraps his arms around Tom's middle. "Okay then. I believe you," he says.

Tom settles against him and rests his hands on Simon's arms and they stand like that, spooned together, while Simon kisses Tom's ear.

"You know, I haven't brought it up before now," Simon murmurs, "because I wasn't sure how you'd take it, but the truth is I rather like that I'm bigger than you. I like being the big spoon."

Tom smiles at that. "I kinda like being your little spoon. That hasn't always been the case, not with you at first and not with many before you. It's a trust thing. I trust you."

Simon knows Tom hasn't been able to be this way with just anyone. He's been shorter than nearly everyone he's ever dated, but it's only a handful of those people who've gotten this side of him, the contented Little Spoon.

Not for the first time Simon feels an intense rush of protectiveness. He raises a hand to Tom's throat, gently cups it and turns Tom's face toward his own so his mouth can catch Tom's in a soft but firm kiss. Tom allows this. Simon knows he is only allowed to be protective and possessive because Tom likes it, and in fact he both hears and feels Tom respond to it; there's a little intake of breath as their lips meet, as though Tom is almost startled. He holds it for a moment, then lets it out slowly with a soft moan as the kiss deepens.

"I am so fucking hard for you right now," Simon whispers gruffly against Tom's mouth.

"I know, I can feel it … against the small of my back."

Simon snorts as he holds in a giggle. Tom is exaggerating, but it's true that his backside isn't nestled quite as snugly in Simon's groin as Simon's was in his groin when Tom still had his boots on.

With a grin, Tom turns his face away and settles back against Simon again. Simon lowers his hand from Tom's neck, rests his cheek against the side of Tom's head and they examine their reflection.

"That would make a nice picture," Simon says. "A nice _private_ picture."

"I dunno, a picture like that … might be a shame to keep it private."

Simon raises his head and his eyebrows at the same time. He'd expected Tom to protest having a picture taken now. "You're joking."

Tom shrugs, smiling calmly to himself. "Our fans are pretty amazing. They support us, not just in our careers but also as a couple. Maybe they're ready for a more candid look at us."

"I'm just starting to understand why you hide your height and now you're telling me you're ready to just throw it out there for all to see?"

Tom reaches into his back pocket and retrieves his phone. "Maybe not right this second," he admits, thumbing at his screen to bring up his camera. "But maybe someday soon. Stand up straighter, put your arms around my shoulders instead."

Simon straightens his back and moves his hands up from Tom's waist to hug his shoulders. Tom lays his free hand on top of Simon's arms and takes a picture of their reflection just as Simon closes his eyes and presses his lips to Tom's temple. Simon pulls a breath in through his nose just as the camera makes its shutter sound. He takes the clean scent of Tom's hair deep into his lungs, holds it there like smoke from some wonderful drug and then exhales as he nuzzles at Tom's cheek. The shutter sound goes off again. Simon opens his eyes to see what the camera has seen.

The resulting pictures show beyond the shadow of a doubt the true difference in their height. The first shot is quite nice; Tom looks content with a subtle smile on his face as he looks at the camera image of their reflection while the photo is taken. Simon looks, quite frankly, helplessly in love with his mouth and nose pressed to the side of Tom's head, his eyes closed. The calmness they both feel is coming through in the image. It looks real, not like the staged feel of publicity photos, and not real in the way that paparazzi photos are – all rushed and annoyed and awkward. They are clearly comfortable here. A corner of their bed can even be seen in the lower left. In the background on a wall there are hooks laden with jackets and hoodies and ball caps.

The second shot is much the same but feels even more intimate. Simon's lips are parted, and Tom had apparently tilted his head just slightly, angling his cheek upward toward Simon's mouth. In this shot Tom's eyelids droop as though he is sleepy, but the same delicate smile is still playing on his lips. Here the smile looks almost a little smug, as though he is daring the world to question the validity of their relationship. And it looks as if he exhaled when Simon did; he looks just slightly smaller, like he's hunched a little and has snuggled back even more into Simon's embrace.

"The first one, I think," Tom says. "The second one … feels more private."

Simon agrees and says, "Let me know when you want it uploaded."

"Nah, I can do it."

"Sure, I'll give you my password in a bit."

"No, what I mean is I think my own Twitter account could use a new exclusive behind-the-scenes photo."

"Tweeting your real height, using your own Twitter account. What's gotten into you today?"

"You and Gracie may have a point about using social media more. That kind of connection to the public is invaluable."

"Do you even know your own password?"

Tom hesitates, then finally replies, "No."

Simon laughs and squeezes him. "Maybe have your assistant do it."

Tom agrees and puts his phone away. "Now. What are we gonna do about that hard-on poking me in the tailbone."

Simon can think of a few options. He doubts they have time for any of them, but he's too keen on keeping Tom in his arms to not give it a shot. He nuzzles and kisses Tom's ear and cheek until Tom turns to face him, puts his arms up around Simon's shoulders and kisses him. Simon slides his hands up beneath Tom's t-shirt and feels up and down his strong back. That sense of urgency Simon had felt in Tom earlier in the day is present now, buzzing in every knot of muscle his fingers graze. Their breaths quicken and the kiss becomes hungrier. The more aroused they become, the more urgency they both feel; they've started this and don't want to stop. They need to get this done before one or both of them is needed elsewhere.

Tom unzips Simon's hoodie and pushes it down off his shoulders. Suddenly annoyed that this piece of clothing even exists, Simon impatiently shakes his arms loose until the hoodie falls to the floor. He then scoops Tom up in his arms, kissing him even more deeply. Tom's arms hold on around Simon's shoulders securely because he's been hoisted up off the floor a bit and is balanced on the balls of his feet. Simon holds him tight, arms locked around his middle like a safety harness, so he doesn't stumble as Simon guides him to the bed.

Tom lowers himself to the bed and scoots backward, tugging at Simon's t-shirt to keep him close, as if Simon pulling away now is even a remote possibility. Simon crawls on top of Tom, the two of them still kissing as they situate themselves more or less at the bed's center. Simon presses his hips down against Tom's and grinds against him. Tom breaks the kiss and presses his head back into the mattress as his hips roll against Simon's. His eyes are closed, his skin flushed and feverish looking, his lips moist and slightly parted. With a hungry groan, Simon goes for Tom's exposed throat, sucking and licking at it.

Then Tom whispers, "Spoon me?"

Simon raises his head again to look at Tom whose eyes are dark, a little vulnerable and very trusting. "Of course, baby," Simon whispers back, stroking Tom's cheek. They shift position, Tom turning onto his side and Simon cuddling up at his back. Simon kisses his neck while keeping himself propped up on an elbow. He opts to keep his glasses on, not wanting to miss a thing.

He cups the bulge in Tom's jeans, massages and squeezes, savors the heat coming off him there. He pulls Tom's jeans open, slides his hand inside Tom's underwear and wraps his hand around Tom's cock. It's thick and hot and hard against his palm and he feels a surge of arousal in his lower belly and behind his groin as he feels up and down Tom's shaft. Tom pushes into Simon's hand, then arches his back as he pulls back a bit and presses his ass against Simon's groin. Simon quickly removes his hand to lick his palm and get it slick with spit, then puts it back. Tom glide more easily in his grasp now, and Simon is rewarded with faster hip thrusts and more soft moans from Tom.

Tom reaches back, over Simon's arm, to touch Simon's hip. Simon looks down at Tom's hand petting up and down his thigh and follows the line of Tom's arm up to the bulge of muscle peeking out of Tom's t-shirt sleeve. Even Tom's arms are shorter than Simon's, which makes Simon smile to himself as he focuses once again on Tom's face. Tom isn't watching him; he's facing straight ahead, in profile from Simon's perspective. His eyes are closed and he is lost in the pleasure that Simon is stroking out of him. Simon's glad Tom can't see the besotted, adoring look on his face. He feels it might come off as an oh-he's-so-cute-and-compact sort of look … which it kind of is.

Tom's cock is starting to throb in Simon's hand; he's very close and shows it in the rapid rise and fall of his chest, in the way his voice quivers slightly when he lets a moan slip out between breaths, in the increasing tension vibrating throughout his entire body. Simon curls protectively around him and sucks at his neck, though not too hard or long in any one spot; he doesn't want to leave marks that Makeup will need to cover. Tom's fingers dig into Simon's thigh as everything inside him builds and then finally breaks, sending warm wetness across the bed sheets and all over Simon's fingers. Tom lets out a series of soft breathy sighs as the tension inside him comes rushing out.

Simon milks Tom until his body relaxes and goes still. He keeps on kissing Tom's neck, pressing delicate little pecks to his hot skin as Tom lies there catching his breath. When Tom finally opens his eyes he looks back at Simon with a sleepy smile. He doesn't speak as he turns over to face Simon, kisses him passionately and reaches down to tug Simon's jeans open.

They switch positions again, Simon rolling onto his back while Tom gets on top on all fours. Some of the stickiness that had coated Simon's fingers has been accidentally wiped on the back of Tom's shirt, but what remains is quickly taken care of when Tom lets Simon put those fingers in his mouth. He sucks and licks each one clean, getting a little bit of himself smeared on his cheek which he doesn't seem bothered by. From Simon's vantage point, Tom's flaccid cock is visible hanging from his open fly. Simon alternates between watching it dangle enticingly and watching Tom hungrily clean his hand.

Once that's finished, Tom lies down between Simon's legs and engulfs Simon's cock in his mouth. As much as Simon would love to let this go on for a long while, his goal is to come quickly because now not only do they need to worry about getting called away before they're finished, but they need to worry about getting called away before they get a chance to wash up and change. Not that the cast and crew won't wait for them, but it's a situation they'd both rather avoid. Sex-related delays are unprofessional. And always painfully obvious.

Luckily he and Tom are on the same page. Tom sucks like he's on a mission, pulling out every move he knows drives Simon crazy. He sucks hard, creating intense suction; he applies extra pressure to the sensitive underside of the head with his tongue; he hums around Simon's girth as though he himself is on the verge of climax again. His voice vibrates on Simon's skin in a wonderful way. It isn't long before Simon is groaning at the ceiling. The pressure building inside him comes to a head and he spurts hard in Tom's mouth. Tom is relentless, sucking hard throughout Simon's climax until Simon becomes too sensitive and has to nudge Tom's head away.

Tom sits up and makes sure Simon is watching when he swallows what's in his mouth. He wipes his lips on the back of his hand, then crawls up to lie next to Simon and kisses him as he falls into Simon's arms. Simon finally takes his glasses off and sets them aside, across the bed where he is unlikely to roll over onto them.

"We need to get cleaned up," Tom whispers once they've settled down.

"Mm," Simon grunts, too relaxed to form words yet.

"They're gonna come looking for us and we've got come all over our clothes. And hands. And faces." Tom shifts a bit, so Simon opens his eyes to see that Tom is finally wiping the smear of his own semen off his cheek. Simon smiles at that and kisses Tom's head.

"I love my little spoon," Simon whispers.

Tom emits a soft, low chuckle. "I love my big spoon. We'll definitely have dinner together tonight, okay?"

"I'll wait for you if you're late."

"I won't be late." Tom looks up at him solemnly. "I promise. You won't need those pictures of me on your phone. I will not be late."

They're gently kissing again when Tom's phone vibrates in his pocket. With a groan of annoyance, he pulls it out and checks it.

"Time to go?" Simon asks.

Tom looks at him regretfully. "Time to go."

"At least they let us finish this time."

Tom gives Simon another kiss, but before he pulls away he stops and gazes at Simon, into his eyes and at every detail of his face. Simon does the same, acutely aware that Tom needs to get going but not wanting to let go of the moment.

"I think I get it," Tom whispers. "It's like a moment in time that's so … just right … that you need to share it. Even if it's kind of personal and the world won't fully understand it, or even if it seems mundane on the surface, you want to share it anyway whether it's a cute kitten or a frappuccino or a really great steak. You share it because in its way it's beautiful. It's pleasure. It's joy. We share those things because it's nice and it's fleeting. We want to share and preserve. I get it."

Simon can only nod. He doesn't need to say anything else. Tom's said it all.

Tom makes finger circles across Simon's chest and adds, "I'll have my assistant upload that picture of us as soon as I'm out of the shower." At that, he gives Simon a final kiss, then rolls away, onto his back, and tucks his cock back into his clothes. He gets up and leaves the room, heads up to the second level of the trailer where the bathroom is. Simon doesn't follow. They have two separate showers, one for each of them, but he can't follow just yet because if he does, he's pretty sure neither of them will get out of the trailer in a timely fashion.

He puts himself away too, zips up and goes back out into the kitchen. He washes his hands and picks up his phone to have a look at the pictures he took of Tom earlier, the beautiful smiling pictures. Tom's right; Simon wants to upload one of them now. He's wanted to since he took them. He wants to share them because they're beautiful, because they're evidence of a perfect moment in time. He wants someone to see what he sees.

And many would see it, would get it, but many others wouldn't, and that's part of it, part of the reason to keep things private. Not everything is for everyone. Simon gets that. Just thinking about some of the responses he might get if he uploaded one of these pictures makes him cringe a bit. And those responses would be attached to the pictures forever in Simon's mind. He doesn't want that.

Maybe that's partly why Tom still hides his height. He gets enough flack when he's faking it. How much worse would it get if he stopped?

Whatever the combination of reasons behind it, Tom is happy and confident and comfortable in his skin. That's good enough for Simon. He considers telling Tom not to bother uploading the shot of them together, but he senses that Tom needs to. He needs to share that perfect moment. Simon's okay with that.

But the pictures of Tom smiling and being lovely; those ones Simon will keep to himself.

END

**Author's Note:**

>   * [The shot of Tom's thigh](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com/post/98157434532)
>   * [The shot with Jeremy Renner and Ving Rhames](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com/post/97247510832/harry-pegg-mission-impossible-5)
>   * The Jeffs: [Simon's Special Chair](https://twitter.com/simonpegg/status/267664221456711681), [His Special Chair is Not a Toilet](https://twitter.com/simonpegg/status/267666129080684545), [Canadian Jeff](https://twitter.com/simonpegg/status/318005910939262976), [Jeff 5.0](https://twitter.com/simonpegg/status/448453262199750656), [All the Jeffs](https://twitter.com/simonpegg/status/448457485972959233).
> 



End file.
